


just young gods

by popoyoy11



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Crossover, Fluff, M/M, PJO AU, PJO AU that no one really asked for, all da fluff, nobody ask me what this is i dont even know, there's a side of percabeth in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 15:27:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13390740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popoyoy11/pseuds/popoyoy11
Summary: The resolution of the most violent pigtail-pulling in history.





	just young gods

**Author's Note:**

> I'M BACK ON MY BULLSHIT! Hello, and welcome, to the most self-indulgent, lazy fic ever. I have no idea what this is, if you do please let me know. Before you start this fic there are some things you need to know! First of all, English is not my first language, second of all, any inconsistencies or mis-characterization are completely my own fault and I hope y'all will forgive me on that. Enjoy!

“I don’t know what you’re planning but whatever it is; I want it to stop, right now,” Dick says. Throwing open the door to the Athena cabin and cringing when it hits the walls with a loud thud.

Tim swivels around—where did the kid even get a _swivel_ chair for Gods’ sake—to face him and gives him an unimpressed look.

“I’m not planning anything,” he replies. Dick sighs and walks over to his desk, where he proceeds to lift up a blueprint of a plan, watches as hastily shoved papers and stationery rolls off the paper and onto Tim’s feet.

Tim huffs and bends to pick up a mechanical pencil, Dick recognizes Roy’s signature engraved on its side. Knowing _Roy_ and the Hephaestus cabin it probably spews fire from one end, or something. “That’s nothing.”

“Tim, it says ‘Operation Obliterate Jason Todd’. It literally has Jason’s name on it.” Dick raises an eyebrow at him. Tim stares back, an irritated expression on his face. Dick considers rolling his eyes, but opts for a put upon sigh instead.

“I love you, little brother, but you do remember the last time you decided to _get back at_ Jason, right? We had to muck the stables for a _month_ , Tim. A month. That’s a _month_ of my summer vacation wasted in pegasi dung with _Marion_ , nobody likes Marion, Tim!” Tim ducks to dodge Dick’s flailing hands and grabs the paper, smoothing it over his desk before carefully putting it away in one of his drawers.

“That plan was botched, and if _you_ did things like I told you to do instead of chickening out of it, it would’ve gone well,” Tim quips. Then he throws himself onto his bunk. “Besides, you probably like Marion, you can’t not like living creatures,” he finishes, voice muffled by his pillow.

“You asked me to hide his knives, Tim. His _knives_. You wanted me to _die_.” Dick whines, draping himself on top of the younger boy. Tim lets out and indignant squawk and tries to shove him off the bed, which only ends up with the both of them grappling.

“Stop plotting!”

Tim hisses.

“Okay, fine that was a stupid request. Just, stop planning things against Jason!” Dick yells, keeping Tim in a tight half-hug-half-grip vice.

“He started it first.”

“He didn’t, you did when you let loose an enchanted arrow on him.”

“I was just saying hello!”

 “That’s not how getting to know people work, Tim.”

“He retaliated by setting loose _hellhounds_ on me. He’s not even a child of Hades.” Tim spits out, as if offended that Jason had access to those fiery dogs that he doesn’t know of. “Where does he even get hellhounds.” He mumbles under his breath.

“I know, and it’s been a beautiful back and forth ever since.” Dick sighs and lets his grip on Tim a little loose, rearranging him so that he’s properly embracing the boy now.

“Every time you two fight, the camp inevitably gets divided between the two of you, and I am so tired of having to deal with Bruce every time it happens. It’s not good for camp morale, Tim.” He begins, patting the half-squirming boy on the head.

Tim gives up and slumps, “It’s not a fight, it’s a _conversation_.”

“It’s a blown out _war._ Besides, with how crazy your strategies get each time I’m tired of convincing Bruce that you’re still on our side and that you’re not planning world domination anytime soon.”

Tim is silent for a while before he lets out a curious hum.

“How do you know I’m not?”

-

Tim strides into the sword practice arena with a look that could probably make babies cry and flowers wither.

He grabs a sword from the rack and without preamble, interrupts Jason’s sparring.

“What the fuck, Tim!” Jason shouts as he stumbles back.

Tim looks apologetically to Donna—the Amazonian princess with whom Jason was sparring—and she shrugs, stepping away to sharpen her blade.

Tim readies his stance and motions at Jason to get up with his sword. Jason, the dick that he is, charges straight at him. Tim parries.

“Dick wants us to stop talking,” Tim starts, ducking underneath Jason’s sword and swiping at his legs.

“What? Why? Goldie feeling a little left out?”

Tim lifts his shoulders, which leaves an opening that Jason takes advantage of. “Wait, when you say talking do you mean this thing that we’re doing right now, with actual words, like normal people. Or the other thing?”

Tim slashes the blade right at Jason’s face, Jason blocks.

“The other thing.”

Tim lets Jason overpower him and send his sword clattering to the ground. Jason stands there staring at him, chest heaving after hours of sword practicing, brows pulled together into a frown. There’s a drop of sweat trailing down his neck and into his very much toned, uncovered, chest.

Tim follows it with his eyes. He resolutely tells himself that he doesn’t want to lick it.

Jason grins. “Well, I guess we’re going to do this the hard way, then.”

-

As everything that is beautiful and bloody, it started with a quest.

Jason is a son of Ares. Jason with his mean grins and his split knuckles and his bulk got to camp at the ripe age of sixteen.

Jason arrived with war drums beating in the distance, with the sun rising red over the Half-Blood Hill, with the corpse of his dead mother bleeding all over his thinned leather jacket and his face.

Three days later Ares sent for a quest. Five days after Jason arrived, Tim had a dagger strapped on his calf and a sword on his back, and was riding a blood-red horse behind a terrified, angry sixteen-year old with murder on his mind.

Seven days later, Tim helped Jason kill a clown.

-

Tim knocks on Bruce’s door at the Big House with the same level of hesitation he has for dealing with dracaenas. Which is none at all. He doesn’t knock. He barges into Bruce’s office like he owns the place and throws himself onto one of the uncomfortable chairs in front of Bruce’s desk.

“This chair is really uncomfortable,” Tim comments aloud.

Bruce remains unfazed, scribbling away on his paper like the proper Greek deity that he is.

“Yet here you are, sitting on it,” Bruce calmly replies.

“Well, duh.” Tim waves his hand, slouching even further into the chair. “What else am I supposed to do? Stand?”

“You could try not entering my office at all.”

“Now where’s the fun in that, Bruce? We as campers reserve the rights to criticize the place. You don’t own this dig.” Tim jabs his finger at Bruce.

“Technically, I do. Would you like to see the papers again?” Bruce looks up, raising an eyebrow.

“For a primordial deity of darkness you sure love paperwork.”

“I do, it helps with all the technicalities of life. I think it’s the most important invention humankind has ever made.” Bruce says with a straight face, all the while looking dead into Tim’s eyes.

Tim quirks a small smile.

The corners of Bruce’s lips ticks up minutely.

“Well,” Tim drawls, stretching up, “since I’m here, might as well help. Here gimme,” he asks, holding out his hand.

Bruce hands him a pile of unchecked papers and a pen and they set off to work in silence.

“So, you sicced Dick on me,” Tim starts halfway into the pile of papers. “First of all, how dare you. Second of all—”

“Did it work?”

“—don’t interrupt me. Second of all, it didn’t work.”

“Really?”

“Well, maybe a little. On me. On Jason? Not so much.”

Bruce puts his pen down. “Tim—look.” He sighs and rubs his temples. “Last month your ‘talk’ resulted in twenty-three broken bones and an electrocution. I can’t have that in my camp. If the people at Mount Olympus hears about this they’ll take this place from me. Doesn’t matter what it says on paper.”

Tim purses his lips. “I know that.”

“Do you really want Dionysus back to run this place?”

“Hell no.”

“Then I’m going to have to ask you to scale down with the declarations of love, please.”

“They’re not declarations of love!”

“Oh, Tim.” Bruce levels him with one of those don’t-bullshit-me-you-little-mortal look. Tim deflates in his chair.

“He just… he can’t do things normal, Bruce. I have to do this. Don’t you think I’ve tried talking to him?” Tim pleads desperately.

Bruce softens a little and smiles. “Alright. But please, please, no fire-breathing mechanical dragon.”

Tim grins. “Who do you think we are? Valdez? Besides, that is so five years ago.”

-

Annabeth answers as soon as he calls. Well she couldn’t have _not,_ what with Iris Messenger and all that. Tim stacks the drachmas on top of each other to fend off his nervousness. There’s a faint shouting that vaguely sounds like Percy fighting with a seagull and a distant crashing sound. Annabeth looks to her far right, sighs greatly, and turns to the rainbow fanning in front of her.

“Hey, Timmy! What’s up?” She smiles at him. The biggest, sunniest smile of an older-sister-of-a-whole-cabin that only she could muster. She’s the best role model Tim has ever had. Now in her twenty-somethings, she’s moved out of camp and is only around for a month or two during summer. The rest of the year she spends in the outside world, with Percy in their little apartment in New York or in New Rome. They just adopted a seahorse, Percy named him Phil.

Tim chews on his bottom lip, gives her a faint smile. “Hey, Annabeth. ‘Sup? Was that Percy I hear?”

“I’m good, and yes. A bird tried to pick Phil up while he was sunbathing.”

Tim blinks. “I—don’t even?”

“Me neither.” Annabeth rolls her eyes, but her smile is fond. “So? How’s camp?”

“Camp’s good. Last month we had a little accident with Capture the Flag. But no one died, thankfully.”

“Is this the one with the electrocution?” Annabeth frowns disapprovingly.

“Maaaaybe? Who told you? You know that it’s pics or hoax, right?”

“Let’s say it’s a little birdie, shall we?”

Tim grins to that. “Yeah sure.”

“Did you call me _just_ because you missed me?” Annabeth asks jokingly, “I’m not sure I warrant that kind of affection.”

Tim fakes an offended gasp. “Hey! I _do_ miss you. But yeah, no it’s not.”

“What is it, then? Spill.”

“How did you manage to—uhh,” Tim pauses midway, searching for the right words, wondering if she’s going to hold this against him for the rest of his life, “—catch Percy?”

Annabeth laughs. It’s not the worst thing he’d asked yet.

-

“The thing is, Tim, yours isn’t exactly the same as mine. In your situation, I’d say the rule ‘honesty is the best policy’ widely applies.”

“Huh.” Tim pauses. “Never thought of that, thanks, sis.”

“You’re welcome.”

-

After much consideration and perusing of the library they had at the Big House, Tim comes up with a plan. It wasn’t his worst plan, it wasn’t his best plan. But it was… a plan. He hadn’t yet returned Jason’s latest gesture with a reply. And what a gesture it was. The electric eels and the screaming, raging wood nymph that was set loose at his team on Capture the Flag was the boldest statement exchanged between them yet. Well that, plus the flamethrowers, and the lava, and the bronze, mechanical, giant, crazy, chicken.

It was bloody, it was chaos, it was _perfect_.

Unfortunately, it’s all only going to go downhill from there because Jason’s ‘hard way’ consists of sneering and just general animosity until one of them gives in or maybe one challenges another with a verbal or sword fight to the death. Either way, Tim doesn’t get to plan anything because the hard way means Jason’s way means Ares’s way means no more complicated battles or campwide pranks.

He tells himself he’s just sparing himself and Bruce the pain of having Jason challenge him to _something_ to the death and fail.

Thus, is why Tim squares up that evening. Dinner is over and the fire on the amphitheatre is burning high and warm. Campers are roasting marshmallows and singing lewd, horribly gory songs about gouging a monster’s eyeballs. Tim can’t pay attention, the only thing filling his ears are the sound of his own heartbeat.

Jason is sitting at the other end of the amphitheatre with the Ares kids, cheering and occasionally whistling at the Apollo kid who was performing. Tim hates to be cheesy, but the red-hued brown of Jason’s eyes is set alight with the fire. His grin is positively sinful, and his side-buzzcut looks soft in the shadows.

Oh Hades, at least Tim can’t be more fucked.

Tim stands up and take long strides towards the boy and stops when he’s mere centimeters from him. Jason looks up. His face shifts from curiosity to suspicion to amusement in the span of ten seconds.

Jason sneers. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” He yells, loud enough for the whole crowd to hear. “A little owl got lost with the big kids?”

Somebody, or several somebodies, shush the crowd. Bless them, they’re probably expecting something to explode and disintegrate, Tim is almost disappointed he won’t provide that kind of spectacle tonight.

The noise dies down immediately with every passing second. The sudden silence is electric and heavy. Tim swallows.

“Jay.”

“Tim?”

The wary tone in Jason’s voice batters against Tim’s resolution.

He’d just punch Jason right there and then and continue their conversation. He’d kick him or something. He’d stab him with his dagger, he’d—no.

No, Tim had a plan and he’ll stick to it.

Before his courage could dissolve, Tim very carefully cradles Jason’s face on his palms, feels the rough stubble on the boy’s chin. Jason goes rigid in his arms, eyes wide and disbelieving. Tim continues anyway.

He lowers himself so he’s eye-to-eye with Jason. He takes a second to admire the flecks of gold in Jason’s irises. Briefly counts the freckles dusting his cheeks and closes his eyes. He pauses, hesitation running through his mind in lightning speed. The amphiteatre awaits with bated breath.

To underworld with it. Tim moves forward and presses his lips against Jason’s. Once, gently, in a brief, chaste, kiss.

Jason’s lips are soft, a little bit chapped. He smells of worn leather and cologne.

Faintly he hears a gasp somewhere from behind him, but he finds his head too full to process anything.

Tim pulls away very slowly, his whole body trembling minutely. He barely leaves any room between their breaths, licks his lips once and whispers, “no more games, Jay.”

That switches a flip something in Jason’s brain because then the other boy is pulling Tim closer by the neck, and crushing their lips together again and—oh _wow_. Tongue.

Tim lets out the most shameless sound of his life as Jason licks into his mouth, his legs move on their own when he climbs up _onto_ the other’s lap and straddles him.

The crowd of campers cheer. A couple of them wolf-whistles. Tim doesn’t care much about anything except for the rough feel of Jason’s leather jacket underneath his hands—the very same one that he wore on his first morning on half-blood hill—and the hot press of Jason’s hands on the back of his neck, his face.

That is, until somebody clears their throat pointedly.

“I believe the amphiteathre is a place for entertainment, but not of this kind.”

Tim and Jason break away, both panting. Tim can’t do much but stare at Jason, his flushed cheeks and the disarray of his hair (which, Tim has learned, really _is_ soft). Jason nods once and Tim hesitantly disentangles himself, squeezing himself beside Jason as best as he could.

Bruce stands by the fire, impeccably cool in this three-piece. “Congratulations, Jason, Tim.” He smiles. “May we now proceed with the singing?”

One of the Apollo kids—one who was singing when rudely interrupted, gives them the stink-eye. They get their place back at the center and continues singing.

A cheerful song about Zeus and his problematic marriage.

Bruce sends a knowing look Tim’s way, Tim grins back at him. 

-

Five minutes into the show, Jason drags Tim away to the docks. Stopping every two meters to steal kisses.

“We can’t—” Tim giggles out between kisses, giddy, “—be here, Jay, the cleaning harpies will eat us.”

“Fuck them,” Jason curses, running his hands all over Tim. “They won’t know how to savor you anyway.”

Tim laughs and lets himself be pulled away.

-

They end up lying down on the dock side by side, shoulders touching, hands intertwined. They stare up at the clear night of Long Island, the stars and the constellations they make. They send a little prayer up to Lady Artemis, for enabling such a wonderful, magnificent moon.

“This is some corny shit right here,” Jason starts.

“Maybe I like corny shit.”

Jason turns his head towards Tim. “Do you?”

Tim shrugs and brings Jason’s hand up to kiss his knuckles. Jason smirks. “Nah,” Tim answers, “not really.”

“After you pulled the corniest stunt since the Chase and Jackson Underwater Kiss?”

Tim can’t see him but he’s one hundred percent sure Jason is waggling his eyebrows right now.

Tim sighs. “Maybe we just deserve this, Jay, you ever think about that?”

“I don’t.”

It’s stated so matter-of-factly that it hurts. Not like a stab wound, it’s like something pressed on Tim’s chest, albeit very briefly, stole all of his breath, and crushed his lungs to the ground. Now it’s Tim’s turn to look at Jason, their eyes meet in the middle and somewhere in Jason’s are the self-doubt and stubbornness that Tim knows too well.

“Jay,” he says, “no.”

“I don’t deserve this or you.”

“Jay, shut up.”

“I’m fucked up, Tim. You think you know, but you don’t, I’m really—”

Tim kisses him. Rolls over to drape half of his body on top of the older boy and kisses him quiet. He dares to stop only when he’s pulled out the words he wants to say from the depth of his mind.

“Jay.” He stares at Jason. “Listen,” he begins, “I don’t care about whatever you think I should care about. I like you. With all your nonsense and your insistence that pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza. Goddammit, Todd, I even like your eyes. You get me all sappy and shit. Do you understand?”

So he’s not very good at talking sometimes. Sue him.

Jason is quiet, staring off to the sky again. Tim wants to pick apart his brain sometimes. For a person whose soul Tim had seen, he doesn’t know Jason very well.

Jason finally smiles. He chuckles. “Fine, could you repeat that though? I think I misheard some things.”

“You don’t like pineapple on your pizza, very weird.”

“No.” Jason scoffs fondly and rolls his eyes. “The _other_ part.”

A soft smile. “I like you, with all your baggage. We don’t have to play games anymore, okay?”

“Okay,” he waits a beat before continuing with a “hey, Tim?”

“Yeah?”

“I like you, too,” Jason murmurs shyly.

Tim kisses him again. “I know,” he whispers against Jason’s lips.

It’s probably going to take forever to convince Jason that Tim really, for what it’s worth, loves Jason. But Tim’s not very worried. He’s got years ahead of him.

Hey, until Elysium, right?

-

Babs and Meg made a magically-kept plot of garden near the Hecate cabin. Overtime, a pavilion had to be built there because the garden was just too beautiful not to enjoy. Afternoon tea wasn’t a very Greek or American thing to do, but Babs and Meg were going to enjoy the hell out of the garden that had taken them years to cultivate.

Today the tea served is Earl Grey, with little biscuits and a couple of Earl Grey infused macarons to complement the overall set. The two of them and Bruce (because Bruce appreciates High Tea for some reason) sat there in their little pavilion overlooking their garden and the sword-training arena.

Tim Drake and Jason Todd are sparring in the middle of it, the latter had their shirt off, and the former was trying very hard not to be distracted.

“You missed it, by the way,” Bruce comments suddenly, putting his cup of tea on the saucer and reaching for one of the sandwiches.

Babs and Meg stops their conversation about Magically-Induced-Atmosphere vs Demeter Plant Magic abruptly.

“Missed what?” Meg asked.

“The end of the most violent pigtail-pulling in history,” Bruce answers.

Babs’s eyebrows went as high as they could go. “Oh, shit.”

Meg curses in Greek.  

“Language, please,” Bruce reminds her. “Look at it this way, girls, no one died.”

“That’s the point!” Meg exclaims, “no one’s even died yet!”

“Well,” Bruce sighs, in the distance Tim and Jason had ditched their swords and are now on a full-blown brawl. They’ve already managed to knock over a rack of swords and a line of shields. From experience, Bruce knows this can only end with the arena set on fire.

Bruce smiles a little.

“I guess we’ll see about that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooooooo yep. That's it. How did you find it? Please let me know with a comment below! Or you could visit me on my [tumblr](http://p-p-poy.tumblr.com/) and let me know all the other possibilities in this AU or check out my [DC sideblog](http://sneakytimmytime.tumblr.com/) ! Thanks for reading, have a good day!


End file.
